


Contentment

by flecksofpoppy



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: M/M, Rimming, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, jeanmarco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-12
Updated: 2014-04-12
Packaged: 2018-01-19 03:25:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1453675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flecksofpoppy/pseuds/flecksofpoppy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tumblr Prompt: "Jean/Marco, rimming!"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Contentment

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gendersquare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gendersquare/gifts).



Jean never realized exactly how much he blushed until Marco first kissed him.

At the time, it had been to shut him up as he was ranting about Eren, and Marco had taken it upon himself to shock Jean into silence.

He seemingly wasn’t expecting Jean to kiss him back, though. Not for that long, anyway. And certainly not as enthusiastically as Jean had.

Ever since then, Jean hasn’t thought a lot about Mikasa’s hair—or even Eren, for that matter—when Marco kisses him. They do it in secret, and Jean feels that blush heat his face every time.

If kissing makes him blush, though, at this point, he feels like he’s going to catch fire.

Marco is crouched behind him where Jean is lying face down on the thin mattress, kissing down the small of his back.

“Can I keep going?” he asks Jean, his voice sounding so _tender_ it makes Jean feel simultaneously sick and thrilled.

“Yeah,” he pants. He doesn’t even know what Marco _means_ , exactly, but he does know that—yes, he wants Marco to keep going, wherever that destination may end up.

His breath hitches, though, when he feels Marco slip a finger in between his buttocks to stroke his entrance; Jean’s vision goes as white as he feels like his face must be red.

“ _Fuck,_ ” he bites out.

He hears Marco laugh and press a kiss against his hip.

“I’m going to use my tongue, okay?”

Jean groans, and despite his embarrassment, his legs have a mind of their own as they spread further apart.

He feels Marco kissing across the small of his back, and then his tongue is gentle and slick as he brushes it along Jean’s entrance.

It’s no longer as embarrassing—although, yes, it still is that—as it is intimate, and Jean’s breath catches as Marco pushes him to new levels of bliss. He doesn’t even want to stroke himself, content with the feeling of Marco’s (apparently experienced) tongue and the way his fingers stroke along Jean’s thigh.

“ _Marco,_ ” he moans out, completely disarmed, his hands fisting in the sheets. He really hopes no one walks in; they made it back from the run first, and they’re fresh out of the showers. (A fact that Jean is also grateful for.)

He knows how much Marco loves it when Jean says his name, even though he doesn’t do it that often.

He says it again, and then he hears Marco moan, too; his tongue is mesmerizing and Jean closes his eyes, his face contorting. For the first time he can remember, he doesn’t have a goal, doesn’t want to take it further. He just wants _this_ to continue, and he’s content.

Finally, Marco draws away and collapses next to Jean, his arm stretched over Jean’s shoulder blades.

A pleasurable calm settles into his bones, and Marco makes a surprised sound as Jean turns to curl against him.

He wraps his arms around Jean tightly—protectively—and Jean allows it, murmuring Marco’s name.

After a few minutes of silence, Marco pokes him in the arm. “Next time,” he says playfully, “it’s your turn.”

Jean laughs, takes Marco’s hand, and for once, doesn’t think.

He is content.


End file.
